January Drabble Challenge
by N. H. Moonshadow
Summary: Individual short stories, a new one everyday for the month of January. See the beginning of each chapter for summary. Some drabbles set in Wayward Ones Verse. Most SPN.
1. Day 1- Waiting

**Summary:** An amnesiatic Cas waits alone in a hospital.

This was loosely inspired by _Sadrobotinahat's_ song_ I Fell All the Way, _which can be listened to over on Soundcloud. I admit I have that and her song Little Sammy on my iPod. Well worth the listen! Might do a longer fic similar to this in the future, heaven knows its been lingering on my mind for almost a year and a half now . . .

Have a snippet idea? Feel free to prompt me!

Fandom: Supernatural

Prompt: N/A

**Waiting**

Some days were better than others.

Most days he was barely aware of himself, barely registering his white room and the people who came to make sure he ate and slept, faces blurring together and words heard as if from across a great distance. He would drift through his days remembering nothing and feeling even less.

Other days were better. He still remembered nothing, but sometimes things would linger at the edge of his senses, teasing forth half-remembered sensations but giving nothing. On days like this he could focus long enough to interact with the others, his jailers or caregivers, he could never decide which they were.

The name they called him by didn't belong to him, of this he was sure but they would never listen. Sometimes his whole body felt wrong, his very skin feeling too tight, and wrong around him, like a borrowed suit he couldn't return.

He was waiting for someone.

And thatt someone he held above all others.

This was his one truth, and was what kept him quiet and complacent even on the days he felt the undeniable urge to rage against all that held him here.

The one he was waiting for felt more real to him than even his own shattered sense of being, and remembered them more than he did himself. Remembered bright green and a white smile. Sometimes what he remembered conflicted with itself, impressions of roars of rage and deep bellowing laughter. Of an ugly darkness and awe inspiring brightness than he longed to shelter within himself. Warmth and distance, and the need to help and protect. Lingering sents and sensations that were there and then gone, no more than a mere wisp of wind.

And so he waited.

Trapped within white walls and with people who thought he was someone else, he waited.

Until one day, someone new came to him as he sat alone in the corner of his room. They knelt before him, warm calloused hands taking his face between them and lifting. He looked up and saw bright green and a white smile, though the green was watery and the smile wavered.

"Hey Cas."

And through the dense fog of his memory floated one thing, the word crystal and clear like a diamond.

"Dean"


	2. Day 2- Loss

Fandom: SPN

Prompt: N/A

Summary: Loki had four children once.

**Loss**

Blood covered everything, painting the grove in red. Crimson fluid was splashed across tree trunks. Dripping over rocks. Coating the very ground until the grass was no longer green. Bodies were strewn about, limbs disembodied from the rest of the corpses. The carnage was so horrific that the locals would come to claim the land was cursed, that no human was capable of such a feat.

They would be right of course, partly anyway, but that was beside the point.

Loki sat against the base of an old oak, clutching the limp form of his only daughter.

As the years turned and as hunters became more effective in their craft, more and more higher creatures had fallen under their strength. Old gods from dozens of old pantheons had been forced to run to ground. Many fled, or fell into hiding, others adapted to the changing times as best as they could, hiding themselves in plain sight.

Many old tales and prophecies lay shattered in the wake of the turning era.

More aware of the coming times than most, Loki had attempted to protect his family, his children, warning them as much as he was able and bid them to hide themselves.

Pity he had a history of failing his family.

Jormungandr had been the first of his family to fall, his son's own arrogance bringing him to a gristly end. Then Sleipnir, who's only crime had been to be in the wrong place in the wrong time, unaware that a Nightmare shared part of his roaming grounds and had been mistakenly slain in her place.

And now his dear Hel.

Those hunters had died bloody, torn to shreds with Loki's bare hands.

The rage still lingered, but had been swallowed up by the sheer force of his grief.

A low whine pulled him to the present, followed by a rustle in the brush. Loki's eyes widened at the wolf that emerged from the treeline, fur matted with blood. Limping forward on three paws, the wolf came close, nosing at the unmoving form still clutched to him. It let loose another pained whine before dropping down beside him, the large head tucked muzzle first against Loki's side.

Loki dropped a shaking hand between its ears, red painted finger burying themselves in the fur there.

"It's just us now Fenrir."

And then there were two.

Author's Note: Just a small headcannon. Remember to send me any prompts/requests! See you tomorrow. -Shadow


	3. Day 3- Awaken

Author's Note: I don't even know, really. Here, have some Gadreel, because I'm still not over him. Or Samandriel. Or Gabriel.

Summary: He never expected to survive.

Prompt: N/A

**Awaken**

Bleary eyes opened, slowly blinking away unconciousness.

After several sluggish heartbeats he found himself staring at a dim ceiling. He couldn't feel his limbs enough to think about moving, but the surface bbelow him was soft and comfortable. The smell of old books and gun oil permeated the air, familiar and comforting though it shouldn't have been.

There was a dull ache deep in his chest, made sharper by the fact he couldn't feel his wings at all, since normally they throbbed with agony. He was undecided if this was a blessing of a curse.

Then again, the last thing he remembered was stabbing himself with a makeshift weapon, so in all fairness he shouldn't be awake at all to be debating such things.

"It's good to see you awake."

Somehow, he managed to turn his head to meet the gaze of the man sitting beside the bed he had been placed on. "Sam?" His expression pinched in a frown, and then his eyes widened in sudden panic, voice rough with disuse. "Did we fail? Where is Castiel?"

Sam placed one larrge palm across his sternum, forcing him to settle back against the sheets. He hadn't been aware he had been trying to rise. The human looked exhausted, but he gave a smile, tired and worn, but a smile none the less. "Cas is fine. The Angel Tablet is destroyed and the rest of you family is back in Heaven. Well . . . the ones who want to be anyway."

Questions poured into his mind by the dozen, about the fight, about his family, about where Castiel was now, about why he was here instead of Heaven. But there were two more pressing questions. "What of Metatron? What of your brother?"

Something crumpled in the Winchester's expression, but still he attempted a reassuring smile that fell a bit short of it's mark. "Cas told me that Metatron is rotting in cell upstairs. I thinks the bastard got let off too easy, but that wasn't my call."

He silently agreed with that one, but he pressed on. "And Dean?"

Gadreel watched Sam's mouth open and then close, throat working on words that refused to come, and the ache in his chest increased. "We . . . ah. We don't know. Not for sure, anyway."


	4. Day 4- Stars

Summary: Pre-series Dean enjoying the quiet.

Prompt: Danger and/or Nature. I chose door number two.

**Stars**

Dean sat on the hood of his car, reclined comfortably back on the windshield, and long bowed legs stretched out, soaking up the warmth that radiated from the engine.

He had pulled over to the side of the road less than a half an hour before, taking advantage of a quiet back road with an empty field. The night called to him as it sometimes did, and he did as it bid and sat in silence and enjoyed the view.

And what a view.

It was a moonless night, the air crisp, but not quite cold, and without the light pollution that came near civilization the sky was completely glittering with stars. Each pinpoint of light twinkled merrily, clustered close together, and the sheer vastness spread out before him settled something in Dean's chest. That persistent ache within him that he did his best to ignore quieted on nights like these, and Dean couldn't help but take advantage of what he could.

On nights like this it was easier to forget that Sam was across the country, off playing college boy in an attempt at a normal life. On nights like this it was easy to forget that dad was off somwhere on a hunt by himself, not needing his son there to watch his back.

On nights like this he could forget that his family didn't need him.

Out here without another soul in sight, he could pretend, just for a while, that the stars were his friends and that somewhere out there was someone who gave a damn.


	5. Day 5- Roughhousing

Summary: Dean walks in on Sam and Gabriel (no, not like that!).

Note: Same world as Growing Stronger Through the Ashes. Just a bit of silliness to balance out the angst I've been whipping out.

**Roughhousing**

"What the hell do you two think you're doing!?"

The warring couple froze mid-tussle.

Sam was on the bottom of the tangle of limbs, flat on his back from where he had obviously been on the defensive. A forearm had been pressed up against Gabriel's throat, in an attempt to keep him at bay, his free hand wrapped around a much smaller wrist, clearly deflecting a sticky blue hand away from his face. One bare foot had freed itself and had firmly planted itself against the archangel's stomach, knee comressed all the way to his own ribcage and ready to launch the featherbrain off of him.

Both were completely smeared with blue and orange paint, including Gabriel's oversized wings, and if Dean hadn't been so angry he's be reaching for a camera. Because, let's face it, the sight was hystericle.

With his trapped hand Gabriel pointed down at Sam. "He started it!"

Sam scowled. "I started it? Oh for the love of-"

In an impressive show of strength, Sam kicked out, flipping the archangel up and over his head. Gabriel yelped, his wings flaring uselessly as he slid across the garage floor, leaving tracks of orange and blue in his wake.

Right by the stalls where Dean and Castiel's vehicles sat.

"If you guys got paint on Baby I'm gonna kick your asses!" Dean growled. "And if you tagged the Bronco Cas is gonna have your head on a pike."

Gabriel rolled upright and let loose an indignant shriek when he saw the state of his wings. He glared at the younger Winchester. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to clean these things?"

` Sam was bust dusting himself off, frowning as all he did was smear more blue on his shirt. "Serves you right for ambushing me like you did!"

"Just means you get to help me wash them out."

"Nope! You're on your own for that one."

"But Saaam!"

Dean flung up his hands as he was completely ignored in light of their bickering.

He'd never understand those two.


	6. Day 6- Safekeeping

Summary: (Wayward Ones Verse) Jodi gets something in the mail.

Notes: Technically, this chapter is a crossover with Transformers, but since none of the cannon TF crew make an appearance, I'm leaving this series as just SPN. For place in Season 5 of SPN. Jodi is roughly 22 here.

Prompt: Necklace

**Safekeeping**

Jodi was deep into her second cup of coffee when Riley came into the room, large stack of envelopes in hand.

"You look like shit."

She scowled into her cup. "_Good morning_ to you too, you jackass."

Not like she needed the reminder of her appearance. Her braid was from two days ago, and she had been too busy working to be bothered to redo it, and by the time she made it home she had collapsed right into bed, dirty clothes and all. She was pretty sure she had scrapes and grave dirt decorating her face, but couldn't care less at the moment.

Coffee first, shower later.

Riley chuckled, dragging out a chair so he could sit across from her. "Well aren't you just a ball of sunshine this morning," he mused shuffling through the mail and tossing them into seperate piles on the table. "Long night? Did you manage to take down Casper the not-so-friendly ghost?"

"Yeah. But I swear to _god_ I'm gonna get a set of iron knuckledusters so I can punch the next one in the face."

"You do that." He paused, frowning. "You have mail," he told her and chucked a lumpy envelope in her direction, the paper making a muted thunk as it hit the table. "It's from Sam."

Jodi's head shot up. "Winchester?"

"Uh huh."

She snatched up the envelope, frowning. "Sam never sends me mail . . ."

There was obviously something besides paper in there. With her eyebrows scrunched together, Jodi whipped out her pocket knife and made short work opening it up.

Something small, bronze and familiar clunked heavily to the table, followed by a fluttering piece of paper.

Jodi froze, staring, because there was no way that was what she thought it was.

She grabbed the little sheet of paper, looking for an explanation. Because obviously this was a mistake.

It was no more that a brief note. Two meager lines and an abbreviated signature below.

_Watch over this for me. I don't know when he will want it back._

_-S.W._

With hesitant fingers, Jodi took the pendant in hand, unused to seeing anywhere besides around the older Winchester's neck. She stared at it for a long moment, unsure what to do with it.

"What is it?"

She blinked up at Riley, reminding herself that he was there. "It's Dean's."

"Okay. What do they want you to do with it?"

"Safekeeping, I guess."

Jodi dug into the back pocket of her grimy jeans and pulled out her phone, and sent a short text.

_I got it. And I will._

It was a few minutes before there was a soft chime to signal that she had a reply.

_Thanks_.


	7. Day 7- Treatment

Prompt- surgery and/or bed

Notes: More from the Wayward Ones Verse.

Summary: Jodi is once more a patient at the Autobot base.

**Treatment**

Jodi was confined to Medbay.

Again.

It was all temporary of course, but she had almost forgotten how frustrating it could be under such strict supervision. At least she wasn't bedridden, which was a huge plus, but still Ratchet and his human coworkers watched her like a hawk, scolding her every time her fingers strayed up near the bandage taped over her right eye.

Two days ago Jodi underwent surgery to have yet another piece of Cybertronian tech added to her body. Well technically it was two pieces, but niether worked without the other, so she considered them one and the same. The tester contact lense had worked well enough that Ratchet was quick to design and create the more permanent model. Besides the lense-like implant that was somehow grafted right onto her iris, there was a little microscopic chip imbedded in the visual cortex of her brain. They had given her a whole spiel about the whole thing worked and how it would send the proper signals for her brain to translate, and it was all she could do to keep herself from touching the aching spot on the back of her skull.

It could have run on fairy dust and starlight for all that she cared, just as long as she had both eyes working again.

Which is what they were going to discover once Ratchet got off his big metal ass and came to supervise the removal of her bandages. All the medical staff were under strict orders not to do anything with any of Jodi's implants without the CMO present. Heaven forbid the fuck up just by breathing on her too hard.

The teen gave a loud frustrated sigh, waving off a nurse when it caught his attention.

She looked up at the nearest clock and strangled another aggitated noise before it could escape her throat. Ratchet wasn't due back from his meeting for another half-hour.

So she plopped herself down on her old cot in the corner still reserved for her and settled in for the wait.


	8. Day 8- Recovery

Prompt: N/A

Note: I'm several days behind, I know. This was a first attempt to kickstart the next bit of a fic I just realized I never posted over here. Whoops! I'll remedy that presently. Will some fix-it fic make up for the lateness?

**Recovery**

Sam was doing great.

Well, great considering all contributing factors.

Which meant Sam was wrecked in about every way a person could be wrecked and still be living, and even that was questionable some days.

His skin was paler than normal, and had a washed out tinge to it. He sat alone far too much, but was never completely still, feet tapping, fingers twitching, and when he was really lost he would viciously gnaw on his nails until they bled if someone let him. He would loose himself in memories sometimes, consumed by Hellfire and pain, and when he was it was a fifty-fifty chance that Castiel or Gabriel had to snap him out of it.

Gabriel cursed Lucifer for this atrocity above all others. Vessels on the whole were meant to be respected, and True Vessels most of all. What Lucifer had done to Sam, what he reduced him to, was a crime against the very fabric of the universe.

If he ever found himself back in the pit for another family visitation day he was so teaming up with Michael to beat the snot out of Lucy. Just on principal.

But Sam was getting better. He was!

The time between his mental check-outs were getting longer, the incriments were tiny, but they were lengthening every day. He was starting to talk more, whole sentances even, not just one word replies when one of them asked him a question. Maybe that was just to Gabriel, though.

Rebuilding heaven or not, gabriel had made it his personal mission to see Sam back on those enormous feet and off to battle wayward monsters on America's backroads.

And Sam would get there.

He would make sure of it.


	9. Day 9- Patchwork

Prompt: Stitches

Fandom: SPN

**Patchwork**

"Ow! Dammit Dean!"

"Oh, hold still ya big baby, before I stick something I don't mean."

Sam grit his teeth together and tried to hold still as his brother stitched up the gash in his side. It wasn't that bad really, the two of them had had worse, but the injury's location and Dean's short temper was making it a bit difficult for Sam to deal with right now.

What made it even worse was that Sam knew Dean blamed himself.

Typical hunt gone wrong really. They had located the vampire nest only to underestimate their numbers, not realizing that they had missed one. The vamp had shrieked like a banshee as she launched herself at Sam. Dean had been quick to decapitate her, but not before she got a couple good shots in.

Dean always became impossible when Sam got hurt on his watch, always had been, even when they were little. Over the years Sam found that the quickest way to get Dean back to normal was to let him be the one to patch him back up. As Sam hit his teens, Sam would still let him, but under protest.

These days Sam would bitch at him if the situation called for it, but on the whole he would just sit there and let Dean work.

After a small eternity, Dean snipped off the excess thread and then gave him a hard thump on the shoulder. "There you go. Don't rip those open or I'm gonna kick your ass."

Sam gave a low grunt. "Won't need to if you do it for me. Your bedside manner sucks!"

Dean gave a broad grin. "I'll have you know that no one else has ever complained about my bedside manner."

"Ugh, gross Dean!"

And just like that, the lingering tension dissapated from the room.


	10. Day 10- Prom

Prompt: Dance

Fandom: Wayward Ones (TF/SPN)

Notes: Just a short phone conversation between Riley and his mother. More straight-up SPN ficlets in the works, I promise. Just trying to catch up.

**Prom**

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'SHE'S NOT GOING'?"

Riley winced, pulling the phone away from his ear, the speaker doing a little too much justice to his mother's voice. Maybe he should have deflected this line of questioning instead of answering it. Ah well, too late now. "It means exactly that. Jodi's not going."

"But its her Senior Prom!" She sounded downright scandalized. "She'll regret it if she doesn't! Did no one offer to take her?"

"I don't know." He did know. Matt had made a last ditch attempt at winning Jodi over, but the kid was having none of it. Riley admired the boy's determination, but he should have long since learned that he was barking up the wrong tree. Hopefully Jodi had let him down gently, but sadly that was probably not the case.

"You don't know!? You're supposed to be acting like her parent! Parents are supposed to know these things!" Nevermind that she ignored all these things when Riley had been in school. She would deny the neglect if it was pointed out. "It that thug of her's keeping her from going?"

Eyes rolled skyward and Riley asked for patience. "Mom, you've met Jodi. That kid doesn't do anything she doesn't want to. And that's just it. She doesn't want to go."

"You just don't want to shell out money for a dress."

He was pretty sure Jodi'd have to be at gunpoint to willingly get into formal wear.

Or be invited to a red-carpet movie premier via one miss Lia. Then again, if the crazy stunt woman was behind the invite it was a pretty safe bet that Jodi would be there.

"Can't say I'm not happy to miss out on dumping over a hundred bucks on clothes that are only going to be worn once." Plus she could use her own damn money for that, thank you very much. "But you're completely ignoring the fact that she_ doesn't want to go_."

"She's a teenager, Riley. She doesn't know what she wants!"

"Well, feel free to be the one to inform her. Because I'm not doing it."

He pressed the 'end' button with great satisfaction.


	11. Day 11- Still In Hell

Notes: This started with an old idea (brought fresh to mind by Souless666's thoughtful review on Hit Restart, Not Rewind) and took an abrupt turn somewhere. I don't even know, but I really like it . . . .

Fandom: SPN

Summary: The truth about those still left behind in the cage.

**Still In Hell**

As time dragged on, he lost a lot of his coherancy, most of the details all blurring together.

Heat. Pain. Screaming.

His entire world had narrowed down to those three things. At least one was always present, and sometimes all three at once, but when that happened there was always the possibility of a blackout. There were times the pain was worth the respite.

There were moments were the screaming was so loud it was deafening, and he couldn't tell if it was himself or Sam making the awful racket. He was sure there was a time, more than once, where it was both of them at the same time.

The noise all became the same after a while and it became hard to separate. There was little point in putting in the effort anyway.

There was light too, blinding in its intensity, and coming from two separite sources. One only came close when he was sure that Sam was the one screaming, and as it retreated Sam wouldfall into silence and then it would be Adam's turn again. The other light was always close. It was angry and familiar, and it terrified him like nothing else did.

Then a Darkness came. Only once, and briefly, but Adam remembers.

It was hard to forget such an abrupt change in the routine, especially after the change it left in its wake.

A third voice made itself known that day, deep panicked bellows that begged and pleaded and threatened before falling silent.

Adam never Sam's voice again.

The light that held him, that burned and tore at the very fabric of himself, had hit some sort of breaking point. It lavished extra attention on him after the Darkness left, filled with fury and wrath and unleashing it on the only available victim.

It wasn't long after that when the two lights collided, leaving Adam to huddle alone in the corner and hope to be forgotten.

There was a flash and a sound like a bomb going off, sharp, loud, and shaking him to the core. Then a dimness.

One of the lights had been snuffed out.

The light that remained came to him, just as Adam knew it would. He knew better that to run or to fight, and he braced himself for the heat and the pain.

He was met instead with a blanket of cold, and a voice in his ear, the same one that had bellowed loud and long when Sam dissapeared. The cold seeped slowly into his flesh, soothing the pain to a pleasent numbness, the light tucking Adam tighter to it.

It whispered to him, saying the same thing over and over, until Adam was unsure who it was talking to.

"He made me promise. He left, but he made me promise."


	12. Day 12- Company

Fandom: SPN

Summary: Cas seeks out Dean when his friend is at an emotional low.

**Company**

Castiel stared at the surrounding destruction, wary at his welcome.

The bedroom that Dean had put so much effort in lay in shambles. Carefully displayed weaponry were knocked from their perches, shredded bits of Dean's personal book collection littered the floor, and shattered glass was everywhere. The angel couldn't tell wich bits were from the whiskey bottle, or the lamp that had obviously thrown across the room.

Dean himself was at the epicenter of the carnage, seated on the floor with his back against the bed.

With some dismay Castiel noted that Dean's prized matress hadn't escaped the damage.

"Dean?"

His chin dropped further to his chest instead of rising to look at his visitor. Those green eyes were fixated on his arm, on the Mark, his other hand loosely clutching a blade. The fine edge of the knife kept drifting over the cursed scar tissue, and then came to rest limply between the hunter's knees.

Something clenched in Castiel's chest when he noted the blood. It was irrational of course, any injury Dean had, self inflicted or otherwise, would be far from fatal. But that didn't stop the cold sensation of worry settling in his chest.

Treading carefully, he stepped forward until he was beside his friend and silently sat beside him. Dean tensed at first, muscles coiling as if preparing for a fight. Castiel kept very stll, and his posture relaxed, and waited.

Finally, after an eternity of tension and silence, it slowly began to ebb. Dean shifted, bumping his shoulder against Castiel, searching out contact without asking for it.

Castiel leaned against the pressure, a silent reassurance, and waited for Dean to be ready to speak.


End file.
